


Promises To Keep

by lionheartedghost



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode Fix-it: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Maybe eventual Podsa, Oathfamily, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-05-14 06:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19267549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionheartedghost/pseuds/lionheartedghost
Summary: “I would ask that you release me from my vow to protect you, so that I might follow after Ser Jaime and reason with him before he reaches King’s Landing.”Sansa sat back in her chair and regarded her carefully. “You believe you can save him from himself?”“I intend to try, my lady, if you’ll permit me.”Released from her vow to Sansa Stark, Brienne tries to stop Jaime before he can die with his sister. Podrick Payne is left behind at Winterfell to protect Sansa in her place. Canon divergent from 8x04.(Title change. Previously 'Holding Back So Long')





	1. When You Said Your Last Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about this idea for a couple of weeks and I'm finally writing it. Canon-divergent fic exploring what could have happened after Jaime leaves Winterfell to return to Cersei. I don't believe Brienne would've just watched him go.  
> Thank you to Harriet, Lucy and Gina who have all let me brainstorm this fic at them.  
> Work title taken from 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' by Robert Frost. Chapter title taken from 'All I Want' by Kodaline.

I.

It was dawn before she found the strength to leave the courtyard. She had waited diligently, desperately, the sound of his horse’s hooves against the stone still echoing in her head as she prayed to the seven for any sign of his return. She’d thought she’d heard him more than once, had felt the relief begin to pry away the icy claws that gripped her heart, but every sound she had hoped might be him had proven false. Restless horses in the stables. Wind whistling through the gates of Winterfell. The watchers on the battlements returning inside as the next men came to take their place. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t coming back. He might never come back again.  
  
She returned to her chambers for just long enough to dress. It was all she could do to wait for the sun to begin to break over the horizon before she found her way along the corridors again, empty but for dutiful squires rising to build fires for their knights. Podrick would be one of them, she thought absently. He’d find an empty room waiting for him there and nothing more.  
  
Brienne stopped in front of the great oak door and took a breath. Should she wait? No, she couldn’t; with every moment that passed Jaime grew closer to King’s Landing, closer to Cersei, closer to a fate she doubted he intended to return from. This couldn’t wait.  
  
As she rapped her knuckles against the wood, she thanked the gods that Lady Sansa was an early riser.  
  
“You may enter.” Lady Sansa’s voice, even through the door, was as crisp and pronounced as the winter morning.  
  
Brienne stepped into Sansa’s solar and bowed her head low. “My lady. I’m sorry to trouble you at such an early hour.”  
  
“It’s no trouble at all.” Sansa watched her calmly from behind her desk. Her features was set into a perfect expression of indifference, but there was a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “Are you well? Has something happened?”  
  
“I am quite well, my lady. I…” she faltered. _Say it. Tell her._ “It’s Ser Jaime.”  
  
Sansa carefully laid down her quill.  
  
“What about Ser Jaime?” She prompted. Brienne forced herself to steady her breathing before she found her voice again.  
  
“He…” she paused to clear her throat. _Say the words. Make them real._ “He left Winterfell early this morning. He means to return to King’s Landing, to seek out his sister.”  
  
Sansa’s eyes narrowed. “To save her?”  
  
_She’s hateful_ , Jaime’s voice echoed in her head, _and so am I_.  
  
“I don’t believe those are his intentions.” His face, moments before he had left her, was so clear in her mind, so close that she could see herself reflected in his eyes. “I believe he means to stop Cersei himself. He… Ser Jaime doesn’t believe himself worth saving.”  
  
Sansa placed one hand atop the other and glanced down at the desk. “I’m sorry, Ser Brienne. I know Ser Jaime meant a great deal to you.”  
  
“He did, my lady. He does.” Brienne steeled herself to say the words ready on her tongue. “Which is why I must ask something of you.”  
  
Sansa tilted her head enquiringly as she waited for Brienne to go on.  
  
“I would ask that you release me from my vow to protect you, so that I might follow after Ser Jaime and reason with him before he reaches King’s Landing.”  
  
Sansa sat back in her chair and regarded her carefully. “You believe you can save him from himself?”  
  
“I intend to try, my lady, if you’ll permit me.”  
  
“Ser Brienne,” Lady Sansa stood and made her way out from behind the desk. She stopped in front of Brienne, taking her hand gently. “I would never stand in your way. I owe you a debt I might never be able to repay, and if this even begins to show you my gratitude, then I will grant your request. Ser, I release you from the vow you swore to me. Thank you for your service.”  
  
Brienne squeezed the hand that held hers. “Thank you, my lady.”  
  
“The North will miss you.” A rare smile crossed Sansa’s lips. “We’re better with you here. You will, of course, be welcome to return to us after you bring Ser Jaime to his senses.”  
  
“I would be honoured to, my lady. I’m sorry to leave you at all.” Brienne paused. “If I may…”  
  
Sansa quirked an eyebrow. “You may.”  
  
“My lady, even released from my vow, I would feel more comfortable knowing you were under the protection of someone I trust.”  
  
“I believe the real danger lies much farther south than Winterfell, Ser,” Sansa said pointedly. “I’ll be perfectly safe here with the men my brother has left me.”  
  
“Even so, my lady,” Brienne met Sansa’s eyes, her face hesitant. “Might I make a suggestion?”

*

She had almost finished packing the saddlebags when Podrick found her at last.

“Ser?” He furrowed his brow, watching her in confusion. “My apologies, Ser. I only just heard about Ser Jaime. I didn’t know we were leaving so soon. It’ll only take me a minute to-”

“We’re not leaving,” she cut him off. Her hands stilled as she turned to look at him. “I’m leaving. You’re staying here.”

He blinked at her. “Ser, I don’t understand.”

“I’m going after Ser Jaime. You’re staying here.” She glanced back at her horse so she wouldn’t have to see the hurt in his eyes. “Lady Sansa released me from my vow as her protector; I suggested you remain in my absence to defend her in my place.”

“But I’m your squire. I swore an oath to serve you.”

“And I released you from that oath barely five miles north of King’s Landing,” she reminded him, her lips twitching into a half-smile. He didn’t return it.

“That wasn’t enough to get rid of me then, Ser.”

“Then as my squire, I’m ordering you to stay here.” Her voice was sharp with exasperation. The dejection on his face filled her with immediate guilt. She sighed. “Pod… I trust you with my life.”

“And I trust you with mine, Ser.”

“But more importantly,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I trust you with Lady Sansa’s life.”

Brienne unbuckled the the sword at her hip and held it out to him, so suddenly that he took it without question.

“Ser?” He turned Oathkeeper over in his hands. “Does the blade need sharpening?”

“I want you to have it.”

Podrick’s eyes widened. “Ser, no, it’s yours-”

“Oathkeeper was named for my promise to protect the Stark girls.”

“Which you did, Ser.”

“I’ve forsaken my oath to Lady Sansa.” Brienne fixed the last of the saddlebags to her horse. “I can hardly keep a sword named in its honour.”

“You didn’t forsake your oath, Ser. You were released from it.”

“You’re defending the Starks now, Podrick. You should have it.”

Podrick shook his head wordlessly.

Brienne studied the sword in his hands. “I should knight you with it first. You’ve more than earnt it.”

“I would be honoured, Ser,” he handed the sword back to her. “When you return from King’s Landing with Ser Jaime, you can knight me with it then.”

He stepped decidedly backwards before she could thrust it into his hands again.

“It will always be yours. That’s what Ser Jaime said, isn’t it?”

Brienne swallowed, running her thumb absently over Oathkeeper’s hilt.

“He gave it to you,” Pod reasoned. “You should bring him back with it.”

Brienne frowned at him. “You were never this wise when you were cooking rabbits with their fur still intact.”

“I’ve learnt a lot since then, Ser.”

“You have.” She fastened the sword at her hip again. She took hold of the horse’s reins and hoisted herself up into the saddle. A thought crossed her face and she opened her mouth to give voice to it, but she shook it away. She looked down at Podrick and set her jaw. “You will protect Lady Sansa?”

“I promise, Ser,” Podrick bowed his head. “By the old gods and the new.”

“Good,” she nodded. “She’ll be safe with you.”

Brienne dug her heels into her horse’s flank and rode out of the gate in a flurry of hooves. Podrick moved to watch her disappear into the distance until he could no longer discern her shape amongst the trees. He should have asked her to swear she would return alive, he realised. Then there could be no doubt of her safe return. She would never break a vow.


	2. Take My Past and Take My Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The point of a sword pressed against the side of his throat.  
> The metal of the blade was uncomfortably cold against his skin, but the sharp tip didn’t dig into his flesh with the conviction he would have expected from a desperate outlaw. The hand holding the blade was steady, composed.  
> Carefully, Jaime turned his head to meet the eyes of the swordsman.  
> Sapphire eyes stared back.  
> “Brienne.” Her name fell from his lips.
> 
> Brienne catches up to Jaime on the road to King's Landing. In Winterfell, Podrick and Sansa talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from 'Heal' by Tom Odell  
> Special thanks to Gina for sending me that Aragorn gif as a prompt, which ended up inspiring a scene in this chapter instead.

II.  
  
Jaime had almost decided against building a fire. The smoke would give him away, for one, and it would doubtless burn away to embers anyway in no time at all. If he had any sense he would forgo a fire entirely. But the end of the long night hadn’t lessened the grip of the winter that still curled its hand around the kingdom. He might be a dead man once he reached King’s Landing, but for now, he was _bloody freezing_. He would build the fire. If someone ran him through while he slept, at least his horse would be spared the remainder of the journey.  
  
As he built up the kindling and sparked the flames, he tried not to remember the lines of Brienne’s face in the glow of the torches. How the light of the moon glowed on her pale hair. The sob that tore from her throat. The way her face had fallen as the hope that he might stay with her had died in her eyes.  
  
He’d hurt her. She had finally let him close to her, finally let her guard down, allowed herself the humanness of vulnerability, and he had ripped her trust to pieces and thrown it back at her. Maybe it was better this way. By the time word reached Winterfell that he had died, she would have realised how truly hateful he was. She wouldn’t feel obliged to mourn for him. Yes. That would be best.  
  
He wished he were a better huntsman. He hadn’t been terrible at it once, but that was when he’d had the use of both his hands. He had provisions to tide him over until he found an inn, as long as he rationed them sensibly. And, come to think of it, as long as he actually _found_ an inn before he caught up with the Dragon Queen’s army.  
  
Gods, what he’d give to have a rabbit roasting on a spit over the fire. Hot food to stave away the cold of the North. It wouldn’t go any way towards alleviating the emptiness he felt inside him, but it would quell the hunger, at the very least. A last hot meal for a condemned man.  
  
The point of a sword pressed against the side of his throat.  
  
The metal of the blade was uncomfortably cold against his skin, but the sharp tip didn’t dig into his flesh with the conviction he would have expected from a desperate outlaw. The hand holding the blade was steady, composed.  
  
Carefully, Jaime turned his head to meet the eyes of the swordsman.  
  
Sapphire eyes stared back.  
  
“Brienne.” Her name fell from his lips.  
  
“Ser Jaime,” she replied. Her voice was cool, the tone she might have used had she simply run into him while walking the castle battlements. The point of her sword was still held against his neck.  
  
“I wouldn’t blame you if you mean to cut my throat,” he said evenly. “I’m sure I rather deserve it.”  
  
Brienne blinked, glancing down at her blade as if she hadn’t realised it was drawn. She sheathed it silently.  
  
“You shouldn’t have come after me.” He murmured.  
  
“You shouldn’t have left,” she replied, as sharp as a knife edge. He bit his tongue.  
  
A heavy silence fell over them. In the nights they had spent together it had been comfortable, a peaceful quiet broken only by the sound of the other breathing. Now Jaime wished he could find the right words to disrupt the stillness.  
  
“How did you know I was here?” He asked at last. She looked at the fire and raised her eyebrows. _Ah_.  
  
He nodded.  
  
“Don’t you have a horse?”  
  
“It isn’t far away.” She thought for a moment. “Will you stay while I fetch it?”  
  
_She doesn’t trust me_. Jaime smiled tiredly. “I don’t doubt you would be on my heels before I made it through the trees.”  
  
She didn’t return the smile. He watched her stride back through the forest to where she’d tied her horse. He poked at the fire; it crackled miserably back at him.  
  
“The Gods know how you thought you’d make it to King’s Landing undetected when you failed to even notice me,” Brienne called as she led her horse back, pausing to loop the reins around the low branches of a tree.  
  
“I would have found a way.”  
  
“Of course.” The look Brienne gave him suggested she believed otherwise. He watched her carefully as she sat on the opposite side of the fire to him, adding kindling to the pitiful flames.  
  
“If you’re here to convince me to return,” he began quietly, “I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.”  
  
“You don’t need to die with her, Jaime.”  
  
“I deserve to.”  
  
“I won’t _let_ you.” Her reply was fierce enough to leave him taken aback. She glared across the fire at him with an intensity a stranger would have been forgiven for attributing to hatred. It _had_ been hatred once, he knew. All those years ago when they’d travelled to King’s Landing together, when he’d told himself he despised her as much as she despised him. He never had.  
  
“It needs to be me.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Cersei was his twin. His fault. His responsibility. “I can’t stand by while innocents die in my place.”  
  
He ducked his head so he wouldn’t have to see the look on her face. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. He could hear his heart beating in his chest, the steady thump unbearably loud in the ensuing quiet.  
  
“Fine,” she said at last. “Then I’ll come with you.”  
  
His head snapped up at that. “No. Absolutely not.”  
  
“I’m a knight, just as you are. You can’t command me to leave.”  
  
“Brienne,” he shook his head hopelessly, “it wouldn’t be safe-”  
  
“For you to go alone,” she finished for him. “I could have killed you here if I had wanted. You won’t make it anywhere near the Red Keep without help.”  
  
Jaime ground his teeth together.  
  
“Either we both return to Winterfell,” Brienne said, her voice soft, “or we both go to King’s Landing.”  
  
“You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met,” he told her. Brienne nodded in agreement.  
  
“And you’re a fool if you ever thought I would watch you leave and spend my days in Winterfell crying for you. I’m not going back without you, and I won’t let you ride to your death.”  
  
He met her eyes across the fire at last. His protests died on his lips as he looked at her, her face illuminated in the firelight, her mouth set in a determined line.  
  
He nodded.  
  


*

  
“You look like a shadow without its body.”

Podrick started at the sound of Sansa’s voice. “My lady.” He bowed his head. “Forgive me, I didn’t hear you approach.”

“It’s alright, Podrick.” She stood on the battlements beside him, her hands resting next to his on the rail in front of them. “How are you finding Winterfell without Ser Brienne?”

In honesty, he was just as she’d said: a shadow without its body. For four years he had followed Ser Brienne across Westeros, built her fires, cooked her meals, worked at his swordsmanship under her tutelage. But now he was alone in the North; not truly just a squire anymore, but not yet a knight either. He was in over his head, but he had sworn he would protect Lady Sansa. He’d have to find a way to manage, somehow.

“Very hospitable, my lady,” he said politely. “Thank you for allowing me to serve you.”

Sansa hummed. “When I first met you I didn’t trust you at all.”

Podrick couldn’t say he was surprised. When Lord Tywin had sent him to squire for Lord Tyrion, Ned Stark’s head had still been on the pike. She had been a hostage in King’s Landing, and he had served the family keeping her there. “I understand, my lady.”

“I would see you pouring wine or fetching water, and every time I saw your face I would remember that you were Podrick Payne, cousin to the man who took my father’s head.” Sansa glanced at him. “Ser Ilyn terrified me.”

“He terrified me too, my lady,” Pod admitted. “I’m not close to most of House Payne. I don’t believe Ser Ilyn even knew my name.”

“You’re nothing like him,” Sansa continued, watching the knights training in the courtyard below. “You were a boy, barely older than I was, and I despised you for the actions of your house. But you were always kind to me.”

Of course he had been. She was petrified, beaten, alone. It hadn’t cost him a thing to smile reassuringly at her when she passed him in the halls, or to make sure he brought her the foods he’d noticed she liked once she’d been married to Lord Tyrion.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help, my lady,” he said at last.

“You did what you could.” Sansa laid a comforting hand over his. Her touch was soft, delicate, so light he would barely have registered it had he not seen it happen. “And you’ve done so much for me since then. You’re _still_ doing so much for me.”

“It’s my honour, my lady.” It was cold enough that he could see his breath linger in the air in front of him, but warmth seemed to spread through him from the touch of her hand. His cheeks were pink, he was sure; he hoped Lady Sansa would attribute that to the cold.

Sansa drew her hand away from him suddenly. He pretended not to have noticed, not to have felt the touch at all.

“Ser Brienne will return soon,” Sansa said, “dragging Ser Jaime by the ear, I don’t doubt. Most likely they’re headed back here this very moment.”

Pod smiled. “I hope so, my lady.”

Sansa excused herself and turned on her heel, her cloak disrupting the light covering of snow forming on the battlements. Podrick watched her go. He could still feel her hand on his, the unspoken gratitude, the welcomed comfort.

His eyes were drawn to the distant forest. He strained his eyes through the steady snowfall, searching for any sign of figures on horseback returning to the castle. Had Lady Sansa truly thought that Ser Brienne would be back with Ser Jaime soon, or had she only been trying to reassure him?

He chose to believe she thought it true. He needed it to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter 3 coming soon.
> 
> Please leave kudos/a comment/subscribe if you enjoyed it!


	3. Talk Some Sense to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the corner of his eye he’d watched Sansa glance along the battlements to the nearest guardsman, whose gaze had been fixed to the east of the castle. Then, so lightly that he hadn’t realised at first, she had twined her fingers delicately between his.  
>   
> He remembered the feel of her hand every time he saw her. He would bow his head dutifully to her in company, willing himself not to blush, and the feeling of their fingers laced together would come to him once more. Sometimes her eyes would flicker to him, the colour of a clear winter sky, and his heart would forget how to beat. 
> 
> Jaime and Brienne reach King's Landing. In Winterfell, something sparks between Pod and Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super hard to write, but here it is.
> 
> Chapter title taken from 'I Found' by Amber Run.

III.  
  
It was weeks before the outskirts of King’s Landing appeared in the distance. Brienne had called for him to stop as the Dragon Queen’s encampment came into view, rows upon rows of tents and campfires and metal armour shining in moonlight. Tyrion was there somewhere, Jaime knew. Would Tyrion even be aware that his brother had left Winterfell? Would Lady Sansa have sent a raven to Jon Snow, warning him that the Kingslayer could very well cross his path? Or had she doubted Jaime would even make it this far?  
  
“I trust you know another way in,” Brienne glanced sidelong at him.  
  
Jaime gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And you thought I wouldn’t be able to get in alone.”  
  
“You haven’t yet,” she reminded him.  
  
Dawn had come and the sun had risen long before they breached the city. They had handed the horses off to a boy in Flea Bottom, along with a handful of coppers and the promise of a Silver Stag should the animals be watered and waiting for them when they returned.  
  
“We should have given him more,” Brienne frowned, watching the boy lead the horses out of sight.  
  
“We’d find him in the street later with his pockets empty and his throat cut,” Jaime replied, tugging the hood of his cloak down to conceal his face.  
  
“You don’t know that.”  
  
He did; he knew it all too well. He chose not to answer her.  
  
Jaime led the way along the twisting alleys, Brienne close at his heel with her hand hovering over Oathkeeper’s hilt. There was an uncanny stillness in the air, a thrumming of what was to come. The anticipation was so thick he could almost taste it.  
  
The Red Keep began to loom greater ahead of them, the streets filling with desperate bodies as the gates came ever closer. Elbows and shoulders pressed against them from all sides, squeezing them together one moment, forcing them apart the next. Brienne reached out to grab hold of his arm. Her fingers curled into the fabric, tethering them together. It had crossed his mind, however briefly, that he might try to lose her in the crowd; if he could find a way to reach Cersei alone, Brienne need never risk her life for his sake. But as he noticed her grip, he felt nothing other than relief. She was there, prepared to fight beside him no matter the cost, and he had never been more grateful.  
  
Somehow, _finally_ , they passed through the gates; Jaime wasn’t sure if he should thank the Gods or curse them. They pushed their way past the panicked faces, breaking through a gap in the crowd. Jaime ducked to the side of the path. Brienne, still gripping tightly to his sleeve, followed close by.  
  
“We can cut through here.” Jaime barely paused, already climbing the stone steps as every part of him seemed to ring with nervous energy. Every step took him closer to Cersei, closer to facing the cruel woman he’d thought he would never see again, not after he had ridden away from her. But he’d been wrong. She had dragged him back with an obligation to see this end. To see _her_ end before she could hurt anyone else, be it by surrender, or…  
  
A shadow fell upon them and lifted just as quickly. Jaime craned his neck up, resting his hand against the brick wall. “Was that-”  
  
“The dragon.” Brienne gazed at the great wings as they beat across the sky. “Daenerys’ army is preparing to attack.”  
  
His mind went to Tyrion again. He wouldn’t be at the forefront of the battle, would he? The Targaryen girl had sent him to the crypt for the battle against the dead, claiming his intellect was too significant to risk losing: would she do the same now? Gods be good, maybe not all of House Lannister would take their last breath today.  
  
“They won’t attack if Cersei surrenders.” Jaime glanced at Brienne, hoping for reassurance. “If the bells are rung, Daenerys will halt her armies before they breach the city.”  
  
Brienne faltered. Then, with almost too much conviction for Jaime’s liking, she nodded. “Daenerys wouldn’t hurt innocents.”  
  
_Her father hadn’t thought twice about it_. He shook the thought away.  
  
“You believe Cersei will surrender?” Brienne didn’t look at him as she asked, her eyes focused on the narrow path before them.  
  
“I can convince her to surrender. She doesn’t want to die, not when she has something to live for.”  
  
“You?”  
  
Jaime laughed despite himself. “When she sent Bronn to kill me? She’d gladly see me dead. She was _paying_ to see me dead.” He cleared his throat, his voice sobering. “Her child. Cersei is with child.”  
  
Brienne was silent. Jaime could hear the question that settled in the air, the words so loud she need not give voice to them. _Your child?_. He spared her his reply. She already knew what it would be.  
  
He had expected some resistance as they finally reached the main castle. He could hear fighting behind him as he surveyed the battlements, blade against blade, battle cries and tortured screams, the terrible sound of the Targaryen girl’s beast. Daenerys’ army were inside the city walls. Cersei had yet to surrender. But, by some miraculous feat, the Red Keep was almost unguarded.  
  
“I need to speak to Cersei alone.” Jaime’s eyes swept the room as they entered the castle. “I’ll find you afterwards.”  
  
Brienne furrowed her brow, her hand tightening around her sword as she withdrew it from its scabbard. ‘I didn’t follow you to King’s Landing to stand outside and wait for you, Jaime.”  
  
His resolve almost shattered at the sound of his name on her lips. “Cersei is petulant. She won’t listen to a word I say if she sees you with me.”  
  
A dozen emotions flickered across her face. Finally, she landed on resignation, albeit reluctant. “I’ll check for guardsmen,” she said finally, nodding towards the rooms stretching to the right of the castle. “They could be waiting, planning to attack when we aren’t expecting them.”  
  
Jaime smiled thinly. “I pity the sorry souls who dare to go up against you.”  
  
He drank in the sight of her until her face was the only thing on his mind. He swallowed, curled his hand into a fist, and forced himself to tear his eyes away from her. He took the stairs without looking back.  
  


*

  
It was almost three weeks before Podrick finally gave up hope of Ser Brienne returning before Queen Daenerys’ army reached King’s Landing. She was a skilled rider, spurred on by unmatched determination; she would have come across Ser Jaime days after leaving Winterfell, if it had even taken her that long. If they meant to return, they would have done so by now. Even Lady Sansa had stopped insisting that she expected to see their horses in the distance any day now.

Sansa had found him most mornings he’d been assigned to the watch on the battlements. He knew the muted sound of her boots against the wooden walkways from memory now. He would turn at the sound, bow low as he greeted her, give her the same grin every time she rolled her eyes at his insistence on repeating the formalities.

“You don’t have to bow to me every time, Podrick.”

“But you’re a lady… my lady.” She’d narrowed her eyes, but the corners of her mouth had tugged into a guarded smile.

She would stand beside him, her eyes fixed on the horizon as she feigned watching with interest, letting her gloved hand brush carefully against his. He had felt his face begin to redden the first time, wondering briefly whether he should apologise. From the corner of his eye he’d watched Sansa glance along the battlements to the nearest guardsman, whose gaze had been fixed to the east of the castle. Then, so lightly that he hadn’t realised at first, she had twined her fingers delicately between his.

He remembered the feel of her hand every time he saw her. He would bow his head dutifully to her in company, willing himself not to blush, and the feeling of their fingers laced together would come to him once more. Sometimes her eyes would flicker to him, the colour of a clear winter sky, and his heart would forget how to beat.

 _She was just being kind_. That was all it was. She knew he was lonely in the North, still lost without Ser Brienne, and she was comforting him, waiting until nobody was looking to spare his pride. That was it; that was all it could be. She was Lady Stark of Winterfell. He was nobody, a squire from a lesser branch of a lesser house.

He reminded himself of that now, as he stood guard outside the door of Sansa’s solar. The halls were empty. Sounds of laughter from the courtyard below echoed against the stone of the walls, almost ghostly in the late afternoon light.

“Podrick?” He turned at the sound of her voice, pushing open the door and stepping into the room. He blinked at the empty seat behind the writing desk before he found her, watching him with that same careful smile, stood beside the fireplace. The bark of newly-placed logs was beginning to blacken in the flames.

“I could have built the fire up for you, my lady.”

“You could have, but I managed perfectly well on my own.”

“Of course, my lady.” He cleared his throat, surveying the room at a glance. “Was there something you needed?”

“Do you get bored guarding the same door for hours on your own?” Sansa asked instead. Podrick gaped. In truth? Gods, he was bored out of his mind. But he could hardly admit that to the lady he was charged with protecting.

“I…”

“I understand.” Sansa’s smile grew into something less restrained, crinkling the corners of her eyes. _She’s beautiful. So, so beautiful_. “I’m grateful for your service, Podrick.”

“Of course, my lady.” Her smile twisted briefly into a grimace as he bowed again. “Should I return to my post?”

“Surely you can guard me just as well from inside the room.” She met his eyes, held his gaze. She raised her chin, regarded him calmly, but he saw the pink that tinged her cheeks. He could feel his own beginning to burn.

“As you say, my lady.”

“Only if you want to stay, of course.”

Podrick chewed his lip, tracing the lines of her face, the copper of her hair against pale skin. He nodded. He turned to push the door closed behind him once more.

“My lady.”

“Sansa.” She clasped her hands together in front of her. “You can call me Sansa, Pod. We’ve known each other long enough.”

“Sansa.” It was unfamiliar on his tongue without the titles before it. He didn’t doubt there were a number of knights and lords in Winterfell, men who had known Sansa since her birth, who would give him a thick ear for daring to be so informal.

“A raven arrived from my brother this morning.” She moved to the desk to pick up the scrap of paper, its edges vehemently trying to roll together even as she pulled it taut in her hands. “They mean to press an attack in the coming days.”

Pod swallowed. “Was there any mention of…”

Sansa shook her head. “No mention of Ser Brienne or of Ser Jaime.”

Podrick wasn’t sure what answer he’d been hoping for.

“Wherever she is, I’m certain she’s safe.” Sansa set the paper down and laid a reassuring hand on his arm.

Podrick looked down absently at where her hand lay, nestled in the crook of his elbow. “She wanted to knight me before she left,” he said, so quietly he was surprised she heard him at all.

“Why didn’t she?” Her voice was incredulous. “After everything you’ve done, you deserve to be a knight.”

“I wouldn’t let her.” He met her eyes. “I told her she could knight me when she came back.”

“Then the gods themselves couldn’t stop her coming back alive.” Sansa’s smile was soft, gentle. The promise of it gleamed in her eyes.

Podrick nodded.

“I used to dream about knights when I was a little girl.” Her smile wavered for a moment. “Before my father and Arya and I travelled to King’s Landing. Before Joffrey. When all I knew of knights and princes came from the tales Old Nan used to tell me when I couldn’t sleep. In the stories, they were always strong and brave, fearless and handsome. And then I met a real prince.” She bit the inside of her lip, her voice souring. “The prince was a monster and his knights were cruel and everything Old Nan had said was a lie.”

He watched the anger dance across her face. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

“Why?” She lifted her hand away from his arm. “You were never like them.”

“I never will be,” he murmured. “I swear it.”

“I know you won’t.” She brought her hand up to cup his face with a feather-light touch. She was so close to him now that he could feel the tickle of her hair and her breath against his skin, could see a thousand stars in her eyes. Podrick swallowed. He knew he should tear away his gaze, stop himself before he overstepped his place, but every measure of strength within him deserted him.

“You’re a lady,” he whispered, hating the words, willing them away even as they fell from his tongue. “I’m not a lord. We could never… I’m no-one.”

“You aren’t no-one.” She spoke barely above a whisper, but her voice was steady. “Not to me.”

He mirrored her, lifting his hand to her face, stroking his thumb against her cheek.

He closed his eyes as their lips met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Podsa is the ship I never knew I needed.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/a comment/subscribe if you enjoyed it!
> 
> Next chapter coming soon!


	4. I Was Thinking About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei glanced at Jaime, starting at the clatter of bricks falling somewhere above them. She bit her lip, and for a moment she looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. “Don’t stay here. Go back to your murderous Targaryen queen, if that’s what you want. Or…” a fleeting look at the burning city before she found his face again. “You could come with me.”
> 
> There had been a time when he would. There had been a time when he would follow her to the ends of the earth, cutting down whoever stood in his way to get back to her. Everything he had done had been to keep her with him. He looked at her face, at the impatience and the confusion and the _fear_. Whatever he had seen there once, he could find no trace of it now. 
> 
> “I have to find Brienne.”
> 
> Jaime finally comes face to face with Cersei. In Winterfell, Sansa and Pod wait for news of the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
> 
> Chapter title taken from 'Skin' by Rag'n'Bone Man.

IV. 

His footsteps echoed along the familiar halls. Somewhere deep within the castle he could hear the clinking sound of shifting armour, but he didn’t pass a single soul as he followed the path to her rooms. Would they have stopped him? Or had they all abandoned their posts at the first sight of the monster soaring overhead, more concerned with their own lives than that of their queen?  
  
The door to her rooms was thrown open; he could see her surveying the city even before he reached her.  
  
“Cersei?” She might have turned at the sound of his voice, but the hulking shape that filled the doorway blocked her from view before he could see.  
  
“It’s alright, Ser Gregor.” Her voice was as calm as still waters. “Let him in.”  
  
The Mountain stepped aside to let him by. Jaime watched him warily as he passed, watery red eyes following him. Cersei didn’t look back. If she hadn’t spoken just then, he would doubt she even knew he was there.  
  
“Cersei.”  
  
She barely moved. “Dear brother. I didn’t think you’d be back.”  
  
“That’s understandable. You _did_ hire a sellsword to kill me.”  
  
She hummed a noncommittal reply.  
  
“Cersei,” Jaime studied the set of her shoulders, “you have to surrender.”  
  
Cersei barked a laugh. She did look at him then, her face twisted into a condescending smirk. “You’re on the side of the Targaryens now? That’s funny. Does she know it was by your hand that her father was murdered?”  
  
“I’m not on her side.” _I’m not on yours either_ , he wanted to say, but he couldn’t speak it aloud, not if he wanted her to listen to him. “I’m on whichever side will see our child live to be born. Ring the bells, surrender the city, don’t let any more innocent blood be shed. The Targaryen girl won’t harm you while you’re with child.”  
  
Cersei’s smile faltered almost imperceptibly as she glanced down at her stomach. The stupidest Lannister, she had called him. But he knew then. He felt the blood in his veins begin to chill. “I won’t surrender,” Cersei replied. Her gaze drifted back to the city.  
  
“There is no child,” Jaime whispered. “Is there? Was there ever?”  
  
She didn’t answer him.  
  
“Have them ring the bells.” He hated himself for pleading with her, but he couldn’t halt the words as they tumbled from his lips. “Save your people.” She shook her head, but there, in the distance, he could hear it. The bells. Someone was ringing them, a sonorous refrain, crying out in earnest.  
  
“Who gave the order?” Jaime hadn’t noticed the other figure in the room until Cersei wheeled on him, furious.  
  
Qyburn gave her a queasy smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Your Grace.”  
  
“It seems your men have forsaken you.” She turned her fury on him momentarily, rage burning in her eyes. It would only be a matter of time now before the Targaryen girl and her armies advanced on the Red Keep, dragged Cersei off in chains, the Dragon Queen taking her place on the Iron Throne with her admirers fighting to be the first to bend the knee-  
  
No. Something was wrong.  
  
The bells were ringing. They must have been loud enough for the encampments outside the city to hear, and yet the Targaryen girl seemed oblivious to them. It was that, or she had heard them and chosen not to listen. Her dragon launched upwards suddenly, its great wings stretching out across the sky as it swooped low, skimming the rooftops, and…  
  
No. Gods, no.  
  
He wasn’t close enough to hear their screams, but he could see the fire swallowing entire streets in one horrific breath. The city had surrendered, but the Targaryen girl didn’t care. The voice that haunted his nightmares still, even after all this time, echoed in his head. _Burn them all. Burn them all_. The Mad King hadn’t succeeded. It seemed his daughter just might.  
  
“Come with me.” He reached for her arm, pulling her away from the windows. The dragon changed course sharply, soaring towards them until it disappeared from view above their heads. A moment later, the foundations of the Red Keep shook, dust pouring from the ceiling like water from a jug. “Surrender to Jon Snow. Don’t die here.”  
  
“I won’t.” She pulled her arm from his grip and turned to Qyburn. “The tunnels below the castle. Is there a way out?”  
  
“I believe so, Your Grace. I’ve heard tell of a route to a hidden cove.”  
  
“Good.” Cersei glanced at Jaime, starting at the clatter of bricks falling somewhere above them. She bit her lip, and for a moment she looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. “Don’t stay here. Go back to your murderous Targaryen queen, if that’s what you want. Or…” a fleeting look at the burning city before she found his face again. “You could come with me.”  
  
There had been a time when he would. There had been a time when he would follow her to the ends of the earth, cutting down whoever stood in his way to get back to her. Everything he had done had been to keep her with him. He looked at her face, at the impatience and the confusion and the _fear_. Whatever he had seen there once, he could find no trace of it now.  
  
“I have to find Brienne.”  
  
Her face turned to stone. She looked to the Mountain, her fingers curling into her palms, and Jaime wondered if she meant to have him killed. Bronn had failed. Perhaps she wanted to see it happen now, to know for certain that he was dead. The eyes of the Mountain stared back with a chilling emptiness.  
  
“Ser Gregor.” Cersei paused. Then, turning sharply towards the door, she raised her chin. “Come with me. Keep me safe.”  
  
His sister left the room without another look back at him, her protector lumbering close at her heels. Qyburn smiled awkwardly at him as he passed. Jaime waited until they were out of sight before following the halls back to the steps again, back to _Brienne_ again.  
  
But she wasn’t there.  
  
“Brienne?” He ducked his head as the castle shook again. Through the open door he saw stone fall from above and smash into powder as it hit the ground, skittering across the steps. “Brienne?”  
  
There was no answering call, no sound of footsteps, no noise he could hear at all but for the destruction of the city and the castle crumbling around him.  
  
He edged his way along the hall, sword raised. “Brienne?” Maybe she’d already left the castle? Perhaps she’d heard the bells, seen no end to the devastation, and run to the aid of the smallfolk? That sounded like her. There wasn’t a fight she wouldn’t jump into if there were innocent lives at stake. He almost smiled.  
  
A glint of silver caught his eye as he rounded the corner. A sword lay discarded on the floor in front of him, forgotten in the dust. He tucked his own sword under his arm as he bent down carefully, turning the abandoned blade over in his hand. Blood stained his fingertips. _It’s yours_ , his own words echoed in his mind. _It will always be yours_.  
  
Oathkeeper.  
  
“Brienne?” He sheathed his own sword as best he could. He wheeled around with her blade raised, the pommel unfamiliar in his hand. “Brienne!”  
  
The walls were beginning to fall around him. Dust clung to his hair, crawled into his mouth and stuck in his throat, stung his eyes as he searched desperately for her. The great beast still soaring above the city came closer again, roaring flames stifling him as the air seemed to burn. It was choking him. He pressed his right arm to his face, coughing into his sleeve. The ceiling was caving in now, leaving a fog of scattered stone enough to blind him. He could barely see the sword in front of his face.  
  
He staggered back to the gates of the Red Keep, hoping, _praying_ she might be there, waiting for him. He clutched at the archway, fingernails digging into the brick. “Brienne!” He tried to call for her, to make himself heard above the screeching of the dragon and the rumble of stone, but her name caught in his throat. “Brienne!”  
  
He screwed his eyes shut against the dust. He could taste it on his tongue, thick and papery and sharp. Cersei would be deep into the tunnels by now, if she’d managed to reach them. She could be well away from danger. He only hoped that, by some miracle, by the grace of the Gods, old or new, Brienne was safe too.  
  
He thought of her face as the world collapsed.

*

They didn’t receive a raven for days after the battle. Podrick had tried to do what Sansa had done for him, reassuring her with every day that passed that her brother was fine, their armies would have prevailed, King’s Landing would be theirs. There was bound to be chaos in the wake of the fight. Sending a raven wouldn’t occur to them, not immediately.

“You’re right.” She’d squeezed his hand, grounding herself with the feeling of his palm against hers. “Of course you’re right.”

Even so, he’d volunteered himself for twice the number of watches, standing sentry on the battlements as the day faded from the sky and the dark crept in. The moon cast its silver glow across the moors as he searched for torches emerging through the trees. If Jon Snow and Queen Daenerys hadn’t won, if Cersei’s armies were marching on them even now, he needed to be ready.

He was by her side the morning the first raven finally came. He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand as she read the scroll with bated breath, the paper trembling in her fingers. She exhaled with a smile as she reached the end, the scroll forgotten as she leant forward to kiss him.

“They won?” He felt his heart begin to beat easily again for the first time in weeks.

“They won.” She kissed him again. Carefully, she pulled back, the smile fading slowly from her lips. “There’s no mention of Brienne, or of Ser Jaime. There isn’t any mention of much at all. I’m sure the next raven will tell us more.”

It did. This time, as Podrick watched her read the scroll, no smile tugged at her mouth, no light sparkled in her eyes. Podrick swallowed. “What is it?”

“Jon…” Sansa cleared her throat. She re-read the scroll again and again, her eyes darting back and forth as if the words might change before her. “Jon killed Daenerys Targaryen. The city surrendered and she killed them all anyway. She let her dragon burn them all.”

_Queenslayer_. Jaime Lannister’s face appeared in his mind. Westeros spurned Ser Jaime for daring to kill the Mad King; how would it treat Jon Snow for killing the would-be Queen? Would the noblemen even care about the lives of half a million smallfolk?

“Is he safe?” Podrick asked. “Jon Snow?”

“The Unsullied want his head.” Sansa rolled up the scroll and dropped it onto her desk. “But there are men loyal to him, loyal to the North. They’ll protect him.”

The third raven came only hours after the last. Sansa watched the squire who had delivered it take his leave, closing the door herself. She handed Podrick the scroll. He took it cautiously, brow furrowed.

“I can’t…” Sansa shook her head. “If it’s bad news, I’d rather it came from someone I trust. I can’t read another awful thing on a piece of paper in a stranger’s handwriting. Not today.”

He pulled the scroll taut and scanned the print. It was short. One sentence.

“Cersei Lannister’s body was found in the remains of the Red Keep.”

“Her body,” Sansa repeated. “She’s dead?”

“She’s dead.” He handed her the scroll, watched her hold it close to her face as she sank back into her chair.

“I’ve wanted Cersei Lannister dead since I was thirteen years old,” Sansa murmured. “I only wish I’d been there to see it.” She regarded the words thoughtfully. “There’s no mention of Ser Jaime, or of Brienne.”

“Do you think…” Podrick let the words go unspoken.

“I think that’s a good sign, Pod.” She smiled. “If Ser Jaime had died by Cersei’s side, they would have found him too.”

Podrick nodded. He sat beside her and took her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips. He tried to lose himself in her, tried to convince himself she was right. He tried. He couldn’t do it.

* 

For weeks, Sansa would find her way onto the battlements just as she had before the battle, watching patiently beside him, saying nothing. She tangled her fingers with his again, only something seemed to have changed. She no longer glanced sidelong at the other guards, or dropped his hand when someone passed too near. People noticed; he could tell from the stares that followed him even when Sansa wasn’t by his side. But Daenerys was dead. Cersei was dead. Any misgivings Sansa may have had about announcing their… _whatever they were_ had died when her adversaries had.

They weren’t on the battlements when a figure finally arrived. They were in the courtyard, Pod checking the state of their weapons stores in case of imminent attack, Sansa surveying the patrols along the castle walls, when the horn finally blew a single note.

“Open the gate!” The cry drew Podrick out of the armoury, rushing to Sansa’s side, clutching at the hilt of his sword.

“They wouldn’t let anyone in who posed a danger to us,” Sansa rested her hand on his arm to still him. “It isn’t an enemy.”

Of course it wasn’t. And if it wasn’t an enemy, if it was someone the man on the gate recognised on sight…

Pod straightened, eyes fixed diligently on the gate as it swung open. He smiled, already searching for the blue of her eyes, the pale blonde of her hair, the armour he had polished for years now. The gates opened wide enough for the horse and its rider to pass through; the smile fell from Podrick’s lips.

Ser Jaime rode steadily into the courtyard of Winterfell. His face, already sombre, gained a new depth of gravity as he caught sight of Sansa and Podrick before him. He clenched his jaw as he tugged his horse to a halt. He dismounted and walked away from the animal even before the stableboy had caught hold of the reins, bowing so low to Sansa that he was almost bent at the middle.

“My lady,” he greeted. If he noticed her hand on Podrick’s arm, he chose not to comment. “Podrick.”

“Ser Jaime,” Sansa nodded. Podrick ignored him. His gaze was focused on Jaime’s sword belt; or rather, on the second scabbard hanging there, alongside Widow’s Wail. Jaime followed his line of sight.

“That’s…” Pod began as Jaime drew the blade from its sheath. Oathkeeper glinted back at him. “Where is she?”

Sansa’s hand stiffened on his arm, her fingers curling into his sleeve. Jaime clenched his jaw. He glanced to the heavens, the grey peppered in his beard catching the silver light filtering through the clouds above. “I looked for her. I tried to find her.”

Podrick felt his heart stutter in his chest.

“The Red Keep came down around us. I couldn’t…” Jaime shook his head, blinking rapidly. “I never wanted… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”

“Ser Jaime,” Sansa faltered, searching for the words. Podrick gritted his teeth.

“You’re right. It is.” He turned so abruptly that Sansa’s hand fell from his arm. He heard her voice, knew he should go back to her, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to get out of the courtyard, away from _him_. He couldn’t look at the Kingslayer’s face a moment longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos/a comment/subscribe if you enjoyed it!
> 
> This ended on an angsty note. There's one more chapter to come. No spoilers, but I'm a fan of happy endings. Stay tuned!
> 
> I'm on Tumblr under the same username (lionheartedghost). Come and say hi!
> 
> Next chapter coming soon!


	5. 5. We Might Live Like Never Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t blame Pod for holding him responsible. He _was_ responsible. She had followed after him, tried to save him, and because of him she was…  
> Jaime shook his head. Dwelling on it wouldn’t bring her back to them. 
> 
> Jaime and Podrick try to adjust to Winterfell without Brienne. They talk. Everything finally begins to look up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's read this far, left kudos and commented, and sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger for six weeks! I struggled writing this chapter but I really wanted to finish off this fic and not leave it on a cliffhanger forever. Here's the last chapter. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Chapter title taken from 'Delicate' by Damien Rice.

V.

He wasn’t sure where he was going as he followed the stone hallways. Squires and kitchenmaids pressed themselves against the walls to keep out of his way, their faces clouded by confusion. He didn’t notice any of them. His hands were shaking at his sides, his heart thundering fast enough to make his chest ache. He threw open the wooden doors that were suddenly in front of him.  
  
Podrick stopped.  
  
He hadn’t been in this room since the night they fought the dead, when the six of them had clustered together around the fireside and tried to forget that they might not see the sunrise. When the lady he had thought of as a knight ever since he met her all those years ago had finally been given the title she deserved, and by none other than Jaime fucking Lannister. He’d made her a knight, and then he’d led her to her death.  
  
Pod sank into a chair by the wall and held his head in his hands. He couldn’t shake the image of Oathkeeper in Lannister hands, couldn’t quieten the words that echoed in his ears. _I should knight you with it first_ , she’d said the day she’d left. The day she’d tried to give Oathkeeper to him. _When you return from King’s Landing with Ser Jaime, you can knight me with it then_. She’d wanted to do that for him, wanted to be the one to make him a knight, and he hadn’t let her.  
  
The door hinges creaked and footsteps crossed the room towards him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. The echoing came closer until Sansa’s boots came into view. At least it was her. He didn’t think he could stand to look at anyone else.  
  
Sansa knelt beside him and gently pried his hands away from his head, holding them between her own. “Pod?”  
  
“He didn’t say he found her,” he straightened suddenly. “He found Oathkeeper. That doesn’t mean she’s… There’s still a chance.”  
  
Sansa pressed her lips into a thin line. It seemed to take everything she had to hold his desperate stare. “Maybe. I hope so. But Pod, I… I don’t think it’s wise to have too much hope. Ser Jaime-”  
  
“Ser Jaime is the reason she was there at all,” he managed through gritted teeth. His anger faded at the expression on her face. “I’m sorry, my lady. I shouldn’t have interrupted.”  
  
“That doesn’t matter,” she gave a minute shake of her head. “I know you want to blame Ser Jaime. Part of me does too. But he loved her. You know that, Pod. You’ve seen it. He wants to be wrong as much as you want him to be, as much as we both want him to be. But if he isn’t, if she did die in King’s Landing-” Pod flinched as if he’d been struck, “then he’ll hate himself more than you or I ever could.”  
  
Podrick wasn’t so sure. He’d been by Brienne’s side for four years without fail, cleaning her armour and cooking her food, building her fires and learning how to wield a sword under her instruction. He’d been loyal to her, only to her, all this time. He was perfectly capable of hating Jaime Lannister more than the Kingslayer hated himself.  
  
“I know she was like family to you,” Sansa said softly. _She still is_ , he thought. “I know you want to cling to hope for as long as you can. I didn’t want to believe it when I heard about my mother and Robb, but…” she trailed off. “I’m sorry, Pod. I’m really sorry.”  
  
Podrick swallowed the lump in his throat. He leant into her without a care for who might see them together, the familiar scent of her a comfort washing over him. He closed his eyes.

*

Jaime turned Oathkeeper over in his hands. The moonlight glinted on the blade, reflecting onto the stone of the courtyard, skirting back and forth as it caught the metal’s edge. Three days had passed since he had arrived at Winterfell’s gates. Three days spent thinking he’d caught a glimpse of her armour, or saw her disappear around a corner, or heard her voice commanding soldiers. It was never her. He knew it couldn’t be. But for a moment, every time, his heart would leap.

He might have fought for the North and the living in the Long Night, but no-one at Winterfell seemed in any hurry to speak with him. Sansa had been cordial when she’d passed him, and Robert’s bastard- Lord Baratheon now, he corrected himself- had nodded at him in acknowledgement, but that had been the closest he’d come to conversation. It didn’t bother him; there was only one person he had any desire to speak with, and he would never be able to speak with her again.

Jaime studied Oathkeeper’s hilt as he thought. He knew he should seek out Podrick Payne, but somehow he didn’t think it would end well. He should offer to knight him. It was what Brienne would want, what she was doubtless planning to do before she’d followed him to King’s Landing instead, but given that Podrick wouldn’t even _talk_ to him he couldn’t see his offer being accepted anyway.

He didn’t blame Pod for holding him responsible. He _was_ responsible. She had followed after him, tried to save him, and because of him she was…

Jaime shook his head. Dwelling on it wouldn’t bring her back to them.

*

The clouds hung low over the empty hills, cold, lifeless, grey. The battlements were empty but for Podrick. One hand rested over the hilt of his sword, although quite what use it would be to him from up here he wasn’t sure. Sansa had lessened the watch in the last week, reassured that there was little danger to them now this far north, but understanding the logic in her reasoning hadn’t been enough to silence his concerns entirely. He’d promised Ser Brienne he would protect Sansa with his life. He intended to keep that promise.

“Pod.” Sansa swept along the walkway to meet him, a scroll clutched in her gloved hand. “Have you seen anyone? Any banners? Any horses?”

“Not this morning,” he studied her face carefully. “Is everything okay?”

“Jon sent a raven.” Sansa rolled the scroll between her fingers. “The new maester mislaid the message, but it arrived nearly a week ago. He says things in King’s Landing are beginning to settle enough for some of the men to return to Winterfell. I thought you should know to expect them, in case you feared we were under attack.”

Pod smiled. “I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

Sansa’s eyes flitted across his face. “I would stay and keep you company but I need to make sure everything is in order for when the men arrive.”

“You have a castle looking to you for guidance. I won’t take it personally.”

“I’ll send someone to relieve you this afternoon.”

“I’m fine here, I promise.”

Sansa looked skeptical, but she stepped forwards to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you this evening?”

“Of course.” Pod squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you then.”

Sansa left him on the battlements; Podrick listened to the sound of her footsteps against the stone as he turned back to face the fields before him.

More footsteps came from behind. Maybe Sansa had sent another soldier after all?

“That was interesting. How long have you and Sansa Stark been courting?”

Podrick set his jaw. “I don’t think that’s any of your concern, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime nodded. “Perhaps not.”

Silence fell. Jaime shifted his weight.

“I have to admit,” he tried again, “I didn’t expect you to survive this long outside of King’s Landing.”

“I wouldn’t have without Ser Brienne.” Podrick turned to glare at the man beside him. “She protected me. She trained me. I owe my life to her.”

Jaime ducked his head. “We both do.” He glanced down at the sword on his hip; Oathkeeper. “I know you blame me, and you’re right to. I shouldn’t have let her accompany me to King’s Landing.”

Podrick curled his fingers into his palms, knuckles white. Then, steadily, the anger faded. He looked back at the fields in front of them, sighing quietly in resignation. “Nobody _let_ her do anything. She’d be furious if she heard you even implying that you could order her around.”

Jaime smiled. “You’re not wrong.”

“You shouldn’t have gone,” Podrick said evenly. “You should have stayed. But… but Ser Brienne followed you because she wanted to. You can’t take that away from her. It wasn’t you fault.”

Jaime stepped closer to the battlement wall, resting his hand atop the stone. Silence fell over them again; it still settled uncomfortably in the air, but it didn’t hold the same oppressive weight it had before.

At last, Jaime cleared his throat. “I could knight you,” he offered. “If you’re tired of being a squire. Maybe it’d make whatever there is between you and Sansa Stark less contentious an issue, I don’t know. The offer’s there, for whatever reason you might choose to accept it.”

Pod met Jaime’s gaze. He let the offer hang in the air for a moment, then, carefully, shook his head once. “Thank you, Ser Jaime, but I promised Ser Brienne she could knight me.” Pod swallowed the lump in his throat. “She made me who I am. Letting anyone else do it doesn’t seem right.”

“I can respect that.” Jaime brushed his thumb thoughtfully over Oathkeeper’s hilt. “But it’s a shame. You’d have made a good knight.”

Pod looked away.

“Would you at least permit me to join you on watch? I’m feeling rather useless inside the castle.”

Pod nodded. “There isn’t much to watch for, though. I’m sure it’ll be more dull than you’re used to.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Jaime straightened. “Wouldn’t you say those are banners?”

Pod tensed, watching the shapes emerging from the trees, grey banners held aloft. As the sigils came into view, he relaxed again. “Sansa said Jon was sending men back from King’s Landing.”

“Sansa and Jon,” Jaime repeated with a grin. “How informal.”

Pod ignored him. “Open the gates!” He called down to the men waiting in the courtyard; they obliged without question.

The advancing men came nearer, close enough for Podrick to begin to distinguish their faces. He recognised most of them in passing, remembered seeing them in the halls of the castle or sparring in the training yard. He began to count the ranks, tallying up the soldiers they would have with the new additions included.

He paused. “Ser Jaime?”

“Podrick Payne,” Jaime replied.

“I…” Pod trailed off, afraid to even say the words aloud, afraid to give voice to them in case his eyes were deceiving him. “Is… the fourth row back. Is that-”

Jaime stilled. “Gods.” He leant forwards over the battlements, hand gripping the wall, straining to get a closer look. He laughed in disbelief, short and sharp and amazed.

She wasn’t in her own armour, and Oathkeeper didn’t hang from her swordbelt, but it was her. There was no mistaking it was her.

“Well,” Jaime clapped him on the shoulder, eyes shining. “It looks like you may be a knight after all.”

Jaime turned on his heel, footsteps echoing as he hurried along the battlements and took the steps down into the courtyard, already taking Oathkeeper from his belt.

Podrick stayed where he was. The hand that had been tightly gripping his heart for days finally began to lessen as the men drew nearer, as he focused on her face, as he finally, _finally_ felt like he could breathe again.

She looked up then, meeting his eye. Pod smiled at her.

Brienne smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't not give this fic a happy ending. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter two coming soon.
> 
> Please leave kudos/a comment/subscribe if you enjoyed it!


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